Runner-up 3

Charlie Bonner squinted hard into the tiny monitor exposing a black-and-white version of Genie and Ernesto. Already Evelyn was answering the door, playing the part of good wife came naturally to her, although Bonner didn’t buy it. Charlie tucked his gun snug into his waist just under his stomach. Thoughts of a misfire had him repositioning the pistol to the left.

Breezing in as though nothing had happened, Charlie watched amused as Genie greeted Falco with a kiss.

“Well if it isn’t Judas.” Bonner quipped, choking back the laughter rising in his throat.

“I thought you weren’t a religious man,” Genie’s tone lay thick with sarcasm. She folded her arms just under the oversized implants purchased last year as a Christmas gift to herself.

“It’s hard not to be, when you’re faced with miracles like this. You forget something? Or maybe you’d like to return something. . . .” Bonner blinked momentarily in Falco’s direction, then to Ernesto. There was no telling at this point where Ernesto’s loyalties lay. After all, the pole dancer was still breathing, her voice box and limited mental capabilities intact. It made Bonner wonder if Ernesto possessed any mental capabilities himself.

Ernesto stretched his arms nonchalantly over his head. “I’m willing to negotiate Charlie . . . a cash deal.”

Bonner and Falco exchanged fleeting glances. So it was Ernesto’s game now, or so he thought. Bonner shook his head. He figured it wouldn’t be long before that soon-to-be ex-wife of his misplaced the flash, but something like this assured him he gave her too much credit. It was beginning to feel like two weeks had gone by, not just the mere hours he had been dealing with this mess.

“You like cash?” Casually, Bonner dipped his hand into his waist, came up with his pistol and fired. “How ‘bout lead? You take that currency?” He shouted as Ernesto reeled backward, looking down stunned at the expanding red bloom staining his dress shirt. The oversized gangster swiped his hand across his wound, staring blankly down at the blood glossing his fingers.

Ernesto fell with a thud and lay in an almost fetal position. Bonner had nothing against Ernesto. He thought very little of people in general. But this was his life on the line, and he was trying to avoid situations like the one Ernesto just put himself in. Digging into the wannabe mobster’s exposed pant pocket, Charlie came up victorious with the flash and, as an added bonus, snagged across a set of car keys. Before he rose from the ground, the glint of black metal caught his eye. Bonner snatched up the weapon the thug for hire tucked beneath his belt.

“Jackpot.” A smile slid across Bonner’s face as he brandished a gun in each hand, the flash already safely in his own pocket. “Love to stay, but I gotta make a run for the border.” He walked cautiously backward towards the door.

Charlie Bonner felt good for the first time in a long while. Ironically, his newly found euphoria came on the heels of killing a man. The first man, and he hoped the last he would ever watch die by his own hand. He wasn’t a killer by nature but he didn’t write this script -- these weren’t his rules or even his game. It was all Palmieri, and Charlie wanted out at any cost.

Slipping Ernesto’s piece into his trousers, he disappeared out the door. Within a moment, Bonner ducked back inside, quickly locking the door behind him.

“We’ve got company.”

Tanja Bivinetto is a mother of four who loves to read and write for fun.